


Woods Forsaken, Part 2

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Blair, a trip to Germany, some wolves, and a bit of plot. Oh yeah, it's a First Time story too. Rated: NC-17 for language, violence, and m/m content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woods Forsaken, Part 2

This story has been split into four parts. 

## Woods Forsaken

by Josephine Darcy

Author's website:  <http://JosephineDarcy.tripod.com/>

* * *

Woods Forsaken -- Part Two  
By Josephine Darcy  
JustJosephine@yahoo.com 

Dawn found Jim face down on the cool mattress of the bed. He groaned, his head pounding unnaturally, and he slowly tried to sit up. Momentarily tangled with the bed sheets and the bed curtains, he experienced a brief bout of panic as he tried to free himself. Then he thrust back the curtain and found himself staring into a brilliant patch of sunlight shining in through the bedroom windows. 

Disoriented at finding himself in a strange room, in a strange place, Jim took a moment to get his bearings. The castle, he remembered. Blair's uncle's funeral---but the time of day was wrong. Wasn't it? 

Jim frowned, glancing down at himself. He was stripped down to his boxers, and he couldn't for the life of him remember undressing. Hadn't he simply lain down on the bed in the clothes he'd been wearing in the car? But no--that had been yesterday--yesterday afternoon. And last night he'd. . . . 

Last night. Something had happened last night. 

He searched the room swiftly, trying to find something to prompt his memory. He'd eaten something--he remembered that. Tea or soup or something--and then. . . . 

Drugged? he wondered. It would certainly explain his headache. 

He inhaled deeply, and there--beyond the room, lingering in the air of the castle he caught the faint scent of candles and smoke and opium--and deeper still, beyond that, the scent of strangers. Hundreds of strangers. 

And wolves. 

There had been a gathering last night. A party. He remembered music, and dancing. And he remembered someone reading to him. Something about a zone out--and that thought filled him with fear. Had he zoned? Had he zoned and forgotten something important? And where was Blair? Where was his Guide during all this? 

He sifted through the scents in the air, catching hold of Blair's illusive aroma. Yes, Blair was here--nearby from the scent--Blair--but his scent was mingled with wine and opium and sweat and sex. . . . 

With a gasp of shock, Jim stood as a tactile memory of heat rushed over him. He tried to grasp it, tried to see it clearly--but it remained only images of so many faces and forms moving and dancing around him. 

He raised his hands to his face, inhaling deeply--and the scent was there. Faint but unmistakable--Blair. Blair's scent was all over him. He flashed on a vision of his Guide dancing against him, head thrown back, lips swollen from kisses, eyes darkened by passion. 

"No!" Jim growled shaking his head in denial. It was a dream. Had to be a dream. 

He stormed over to the wardrobe against the far wall and threw it open. His suit hung inside, but one glance let him know that someone had taken care to clean and press it. And yet he remembered putting it on last night--he remembered wearing it. 

But why couldn't he remember anything else more clearly? 

He paced the room, trying to clear the fog from his head. He'd eaten something when he woke last night--and he was fairly certain now that it had been drugged. Either that or simply inhaling the drugs in the air had affected him more strongly than they should have. After that he'd gone downstairs--and the room had been crowded. There'd been a party--a huge party with hundreds of people. 

And somewhere in the middle of all that confusion he'd found his Guide, pushed him against a wall, and proceeded to have sex with him like some sort of insane, rutting animal. 

"No!" He shook his head again--it wasn't real. It couldn't have happened. His whole body seized up with the very idea--and he felt his skin flushing painfully. He wasn't gay--certainly wasn't interested in Sandburg that way. Shit--what in hell had they put in that soup? 

No, he'd be the first to admit that he cared for Blair Sandburg--deeply. More than anyone else in the world really--but that was as far as it went. He was pretty much one hundred percent certain that there was nothing sexual between them--or maybe ninety-nine percent certain. He sniffed his hands again, breathing in Blair's scent--he'd concede that one percent he decided--that one percent that admitted that there was certainly nothing unpleasant about Blair's scent. But that was it. 

"Didn't happen," he decided. Despite the scent clinging to his skin. There was another explanation--he'd simply touched Blair last night. That would account for the scent. He'd been in Blair's company nearly all day yesterday when they'd flown on the plane--that would explain it. And the rest was all just a dream--just some weird drug induced dream because he'd breathed in the wrong substance and zoned something big. 

Determinedly he headed for the bathroom, eager to wash the scent from his skin. But as he stripped off his boxers he noticed a certain stickiness that made him shudder in shock. 

"Not going to go there," he told himself. Not going to think about it. Certainly wasn't going to examine this evidence more closely. And good God, if Blair said anything at all, even hinted at the mere possibility, Jim was going to deny having any recollection at all! 

He showered and dressed quickly, figuring he'd find out more once he saw the condition of the rest of the house. He figured he could piece together the rest of his memory from the remains of the party downstairs. Maybe he could find out what had been consumed--or what book had been read to him. Certainly he could compare his memory with the placement of the candles he remembered illuminating the castle. 

But as he descended the stairs, he found himself growing more and more bewildered. 

There were no candles--all gone from the mantle over the huge fireplace which last night had been burning. No wax lingered on the carved wood. Granted, ash filled the fireplace--but it had been so yesterday afternoon as well. Still, there were no signs of plates or cups, no scuffs on the marble floor--no spills on the priceless carpets. He moved through several other rooms--but all signs of a party had been cleared away, the place cleaned and disinfected. Nothing at all remained, no vase out of place, no curtain wrinkled or torn, no cushion littered with crumbs. The place had been cleaned methodically. 

And yet, whoever had done the cleaning, could not entirely wipe away the signs from a Sentinel. The air still smelled faintly of perfume and opium--but perhaps that could have been from another night he reasoned. And there was still residual heat coming from the ash in the fireplace--but it wasn't unreasonable that there might have been a fire there last night, party or no. It grew cold at night here. Just enough clues to leave him wondering and dissatisfied. 

The scent of food drew him toward one of the large balconies off the main floor of the castle. A wide marble patio overlooked the great cliff, and beyond that lay the dark woods of the Black Forest. Tristan was seated at a small table, coffee and breakfast laid out before him. He reclined casually in a chair, reading the morning paper by sunlight. He looked up as Jim approached, smiling cordially, though behind his gaze Jim could see a certain calculated coldness that had not been there yesterday afternoon. Jim's memories of Tristan from last night were hazy as well--but he knew something unpleasant had passed between them--dream or no the tension was still there. 

"Good morning, Detective. I trust you slept well?" 

It was hardly the greeting Jim expected in light of foggy memories, and he was momentarily taken aback. 

He was spared from answering by Blair's sudden entrance. 

"Good morning," he greeted both men with a tired grin. Jim turned toward him, taking in his appearance swiftly and trying to reconcile it with the images of passion that had flashed through his mind. His Guide looked much as he always did--though perhaps more tired than usual. "I'm sorry about missing the gathering last night, Tristan. I guess I was more tired than I thought." 

Jim frowned, about to correct Blair, but Tristan chimed in quickly. "Don't worry, Blair," he shrugged unconcerned. "I made the apologies for you and the good Detective. It was really only a small gathering of a few family and friends. Nothing to be concerned with." 

Small gathering? Jim stared at the two men in disbelief. 

"I'm sorry I missed it still," Blair sighed. 

"You'll see everyone tonight," Tristan assured him. 

Doubt filled Jim. His heightened senses told him one story--but everything else told him something else. And surely much of last night had to be in his imagination? Certainly the state of the castle bore out Tristan's explanation--no sign of the wild party Jim had imagined. But that left him unable to account for the scents in the air--or the scents that had been clinging to his skin that morning. 

He glanced at Blair, wondering what he'd find if he lowered the collar of the dark blue shirt his friend was wearing. Marks where his mouth had tasted his throat, or nothing more than smooth, unmarked skin? 

"I had a strange dream last night," Blair murmured suddenly, his eyes gazing distantly out at the surrounding woods. 

Tristan, solicitously pouring coffee for both of them, smiled curiously. "Really?" he asked, and to Jim it seemed as if there was something more than passing interest in his tone. "What about?" 

Jim waited expectantly, wondering if his Guide would claim any vague recollection of the wild party Jim had experienced. 

"Wolves," came the unexpected reply, and something cold and dark shivered down Jim's spine. "There was a great pack of wolves," Blair continued. "All lead by one very old silvered male." 

A strange light entered Tristan's eyes and he leaned forward. "What happened?" 

Blair frowned uncertainly. "Another wolf broke away from the pack. But this one was different. Bigger somehow, stronger--but he seemed strange, as if there was something more than wolf in him--a creature, a perversion of a wolf." 

"Perversion?" Tristan frowned as if personally affronted. "Perhaps merely more than simply an animal," he suggested. "Surely that doesn't have to be perversion?" 

Blair shrugged. "Unnatural then--like a thing possessed. And as I watched, it seemed to infect the other wolves, till at last the silver stood alone." 

"What happened then?' Tristan asked darkly. 

"They fought--the silver wolf and the other one. And in the end, the silver was defeated." 

"And the other wolf became the Master?" Tristan finished for him. 

But Blair shook his head. "The Leader, but not the Master." 

Tristan stiffened. "What do you mean?" 

"There was one wolf remaining that he had yet to master," Blair explained. "But he couldn't find him--that wolf had left the woods forsaken in favor of the jungle." 

At the mention of the jungle, Jim startled in shock. Tristan was staring hard at Blair. "But why do you suppose he did that?" 

For a long moment Blair was silent, his gaze still lost as he stared out at something distant. Jim stilled the impulse to reach out and touch him, to bring him back to the present; he wanted to hear the answer too. 

"He died," Blair said softly, and his words carried such weight upon them. "He died, but he came back to live in the jungle--because he heard a voice begging him to return." 

Jim stared hard and long at his friend, seeing him suddenly in a new light. Had Blair really returned from the dead because he'd heard Jim calling him back? They'd never talked about that horrible moment by the fountain, and things had been so strained between them since--so hard to talk about anything at all. 

"What voice?' Tristan demanded, startling Jim out of his thoughts with the anger in his tone. There was a darkness in Tristan's eyes that worried Jim, reminding him too much of the primal hunger he'd seen last night--dream or no. And he felt certain that he did not want Tristan to know that it had been his voice that had called Blair back from the dead. 

Quickly he reached out and touched Blair's arm. Instantly Blair took a deep breath and shook his head as if startling out of a dream. "What?" Blair asked in confusion, turning to look at Jim. 

Rage flashed across Tristan's face, barely concealed from Blair; but Jim saw it nonetheless. 

"You were telling us about your dream," Tristan prompted. 

"Was I?" Blair laughed sheepishly, glancing almost apologetically at Jim. He stood abruptly and walked to the balcony. A breeze blowing down from the Bavarian Mountains lifted the red tinged locks of his hair, and he breathed deeply. Jim was struck by his beauty, seeing him momentarily in a strange and bewildering light. He recalled again a moment of abandoned passion and wondered at the clarity of the memory. 

"It's so beautiful here," Blair sighed. "Makes me wonder why I ever left." 

His words struck a dagger of fear straight through Jim's heart even as they pulled a predatory smile from Tristan. "Indeed," Tristan agreed. "I've often wondered that myself." 

Tristan stood abruptly and moved to Blair's side, draping his arm companionably around Blair's shoulders. Jim noted the way Blair leaned into that touch, and something dark and territorial rose up inside him. 

"Why don't you and I go walking in the woods like we used to?" Tristan suggested. "We can reminisce and talk about my father. I'm sure the good Detective wouldn't mind being left to his own devices for a few hours. There's plenty here to amuse him." 

Jim bristled at Tristan's words. He made it plainly clear that Jim was not invited on their walk--and Jim could hardly argue the point without explaining to Blair the nature of his concern. He doubted very much that his Guide would be thrilled by the sudden possessiveness that gripped him--or the deep mistrust he felt for his cousin. 

"Of course," Blair agreed. "It sounds like fun. You don't mind do you Jim?" Blair turned his wide blue eyes toward Jim and for a moment, Jim thought he saw a small flash of fear in those eyes. But it was gone before he could confirm. 

"Of course not," Jim gritted in irritation, making the attempt to force a smile. Jim could practically smell the satisfaction coming from Tristan, and the mere thought of letting the two of them go off alone together galled. But what other choice did he have? He didn't own Blair--couldn't tell him what to do. It was quite out of his hands. 

Tristan allowed them time enough only to finish their breakfast before he urged Blair to join him. Jim watched in silence as the two of them headed out into the forest, Tristan's arm draped once again across his Guide's shoulders. 

Irritated, and determined to get some answers about last night, Jim left the castle through the front gates, and headed down toward the village he'd seen on the way here. 

As he approached, he became aware that the majority of the town folk were gathered at a small ancient cemetery near the edge of town. He hung back and watched with some surprise as they sped through the burial rites even as three men hurriedly dug a grave. They dug while the village priest read from a small bible--the whole thing showing signs of a hurried and unplanned funeral. He scanned the crowd for some sign of public authority--a police officer or mayor. But save for the priest himself, there was no one even remotely official present. 

The casket--a plane wooden box, was quickly lowered into the newly dug grave, and then just as quickly covered with dirt while two weeping women and the rest of the villagers looked on. 

It was over in moments, and the mourners began swiftly and silently filing out of the graveyard. Many spied Jim standing off to the side and threw him unreadable dark looks. Jim watched them uncomfortably, feeling vaguely like he had stumbled upon some dark secret. 

The last man from of the graveyard was the priest, a rather gaunt fellow with tired brown eyes. He hesitated a moment at the entrance, as if weighing a heavy decision. Then he sighed and walked toward Jim, his bible clutched tightly to his chest. 

"You're not one of them, are you?" the priest asked in nearly flawless English. Only his accent betrayed him. 

"One of them?" Jim asked. 

The man frowned, the dark lines of his face lengthening. "You know what I mean, well enough," he informed Jim. "You do not belong here, and you are not prepared. As you can see we too were not prepared--we who were raised on the stories of the castle. But we still remember the old ways--they were not needed when Andros was Master--but now we will remember. And we will defend ourselves. You can be certain of that." 

The reference to Andros sent a cold chill down Jim's spine. "Defend yourself from what?" 

"The wolves of course," the priest replied. 

"I was told the Black Forest no longer had wolves." 

The priest laughed bitterly at that. "There have always been wolves in the Black Forest. Just as there have always been men to fear them. Stay out of the woods and leave here as quickly as you can." 

With that he turned and hurried away. 

Jim frowned after the man, suddenly painfully aware of the absence of his gun. Dream or not last night, he was certain now that something was wrong. 

"And it's time I found out what," he growled softly. He quickly scanned the village, and then headed toward the small tavern near the entrance of town. The heavy wooden doors creaked loudly as he pushed it aside, and the dark glares of the few men inside greeted him. 

The tavern owner glowered behind the counter, not at all the welcoming barkeep a tourist might expect. Far from it in fact as his hand rested purposely upon a large hunting rifle lying across the bar. 

Jim paused in the doorway, sensing clearly the lack of welcome. But he was not to be deterred. "Is there a telephone I can use?' he asked firmly. 

The man's eyes narrowed, but he motioned with his chin toward the back of the tavern. Aware of the eyes watching him, Jim made his way quickly toward the booth. Once there, he pulled out his wallet, and using a calling card, dialed a number he'd memorized before leaving Cascade. 

It took several rings before a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line. 

"Naomi?" 

"Jim? Is that you?" Naomi Sandburg greeted brightly. "Is everything alright?" 

"I wanted to find out if anyone had informed you that your Uncle Andros had died," Jim told her, trying the most direct approach he could think of. 

Jim heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and for a moment Naomi was silent. "Jim, where are you? Where's Blair?" 

"We're in Germany. We came for the funeral." 

"Oh, God!" 

Through the line Jim could hear Naomi's heart pounding. "Jim, who is master of the castle now?" 

"Tristan," Jim stated flatly. 

"Jim, has he shown any. . .any interest in Blair?" 

"What?" Jim demanded. 

He heard the muffled curse Naomi bit back. "I can't afford to be delicate here. Has Tristan shown any sort of sexual interest in Blair?" 

Something tight clenched Jim's heart, and he felt his face grow hot. "Yes," he stated immediately, deciding not to give himself too much time to dwell on the subject. 

"Jim, you have to listen to me," Naomi said urgently. "You have to keep Blair away from Tristan." 

"Naomi--" Jim began, trying to reason that there wasn't any plausible reason for him to keep the two cousins apart. 

"Jim, listen to me!" Naomi interrupted. "If Tristan succeeds in seducing Blair, then Blair is lost to us!" 

"What?' Jim hissed in shock, not certain he had heard what he thought he had. "What in hell are you talking about?" 

"Look, Jim, I know there is some sort of bond between you and Blair, you're as close as any friends could be. And I'm sorry if this topic makes you uncomfortable, but if Tristan succeeds then you will never see Blair again. He won't return home with you. He'll never leave the castle. He'll belong completely to Tristan and will end up like all the other lost souls there in that endless dreaming masque in that castle." 

Endless dreaming masque--the images from the previous night came back with a vengeance. "Naomi, what in hell is going on here?" 

"There's too much to explain," Naomi cut in. "And you probably wouldn't believe me if I tried. Just don't leave Blair alone with Tristan. And get him out of there immediately." 

"Look Blair is hardly going to let--" 

"Jim, dismiss all your preconceived notions of Blair and yourself where Tristan and that place are concerned. Gender, personal preferences, history, sanity--none of that matters. The rules are different and if you don't get Blair out of there quickly, you may not escape yourself. If you care for my son at all you'll keep him away from Tristan." 

"He's alone with Tristan right now," Jim said with a sickening feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. 

Naomi hissed in dismay. "What time of day is it there?" 

"Morning, nearly noon." 

"Tristan is stronger at night--but go to Blair immediately and don't let him out of your sight until you get him out of Germany. I don't care what you have to do--kidnap him, arrest him, drug him and sneak him out--just get him away from that place." 

"All right Naomi," Jim promised. "But I want a full explanation when this is over." 

"Fine! Just go to him. Now!" Naomi begged. 

Caught up in her urgency, Jim hung up the phone and headed toward the exit. As he moved through the bar, he spotted an old crossbow hanging on the wall near the door. He paused, frowning, and glanced toward the bartender. "Can I borrow that?" he asked. 

The bartender, hand still resting lightly on the rifle, stared long and hard at him. "What are you planning on hunting?" 

Instinct prompted Jim's response. "Wolves." 

It seemed it was the proper response. The bartender smiled thinly. "Then you can borrow it, stranger. The bolts are in that case next to it." 

Jim nodded his thanks and reached for the crossbow. In Peru, he had hunted with a compound bow, and felt more comfortable with that weapon--but this would do in a pinch. He'd fired a crossbow before, knew how to arm and fire it properly. And if aimed accurately, it could be as deadly as his old compound bow had been. 

He found the path Blair and Tristan had taken into the woods. Without too much difficulty, he began covering ground swiftly. Less than a half mile in, he saw the break in the trees where Tristan had strayed from the road. He paused to study the ground more carefully. 

Dialing his senses up, he scanned the surrounding woods. He found Blair nearly immediately, tuned as he was to his Guide. Tristan was still beside him, and the two of them were talking softly together. From the sound of things, Tristan was trying to get Blair to stay at the castle--extolling the virtues of family and clan. And to Jim's dismay, Blair was making no effort to steer Tristan differently. Not once did Jim hear him mention his life back in Cascade. 

Another scent reached him then, strong and unmistakable--the musky scent of feral dogs or wolves. This time too Jim could hear the soft rustle of leaves as lupine feet padded through the undergrowth. Wolves most definitely--several of them from the sound. And they were moving toward Blair and Tristan. One of them was quite close. 

Jim broke into a run, cursing again his lack of a gun. What was he going to do if he did come across a pack of wild wolves in the forest? How was he supposed to protect Blair from them? 

Tristan appeared to be leading Blair farther into the forest, closer to the wolves, and Jim couldn't quite understand how a man who lived and hunted here could be so mindless of the dangers. He had taken no weapon with him that morning. 

A hunting accident--Tristan had called his father's death. Jim wondered now, based on the veiled references of the villagers, if wolves might not have gotten Andros. 

Even as he ran, keeping his senses trained on both Blair and the approaching wolves, Jim heard Tristan's voice taking on a new tone. No longer extolling the virtues of home and family, Tristan spoke now of pleasure and beauty. His manner turned toward seduction and Jim couldn't help remember last night and how the sight of Blair in Tristan's arms had filled him with such dread. And Blair--Blair had fallen silent now as if listening to Tristan's every word. 

The scent of pheromones rose on the woodland breeze--mingling with the musk of wolves until they were virtually interchangeable. So similar the scents, and Jim could nearly taste the hunger--faintly inside that perfume he caught the odor of fear--Blair's fear as if somehow he too sensed the danger. 

He spotted them before they saw or heard him approaching. Down in a small copse of trees near a small meadow, they stood in the shadows of a tall gnarled tree. And like last night, Blair was in Tristan's arms, the two of them locked in a most passionate embrace. 

Jim stood stunned, still half believing that last night had been entirely in his imagination. Then rage swiftly over took him, and heat erupted through his body at the sight of the two of them like that. One of Tristan's hands was buried in Blair's hair, the other wrapped tightly around Blair's back, pulling him against him--and Jim knew intimately the heat Tristan must feel pressing along the length of his body. 

Blair's hands rested on Tristan's hips, his knuckles white with their grip. Jim was torn from not knowing if it was to pull Tristan closer or to push him away. 

"Sandburg!" The shout broke from Jim before he was even aware of the desire to speak. All he knew was an overwhelming urge to get Blair away from Tristan. 

Blair made no response that he even heard him--but Tristan opened his eyes in shock. But he did not even break the kiss--rather simply turned them both so that he could see past Blair toward Jim, who stood above them on the hill. 

Before Jim could even wonder at his reaction, a dark gray blur broke from the trees to interpose itself between Jim and the two cousins. Jim froze in the very act of heading down the hill to break the two of them apart. A wolf--fangs bared, hackles raised, stood before him, as if barring the way to Blair's side. 

As the wolf neared, Jim whipped out the crossbow, bolt already cocked. 

The sight of that weapon finally drew a reaction from Tristan--he broke off the obscene kiss and released Blair to turn his full attention to Jim. Oddly enough Blair did not move, did not react at all to the sudden interruption of passion. He simply stood in silence, his back to Jim as Tristan stepped around him. 

"Do you have any idea what he'll do to you if you miss, Detective?" Tristan asked curiously. He seemed not in the slightest bit alarmed by the wolf's presence--a fact that sent a chill racing up Jim's spine. 

"I never miss," Jim stated flatly. 

"Never? You mean you've actually used a crossbow before?" Tristan sounded highly skeptical. 

Jim sited along the bolt, his shot would take the wolf straight through the heart. "Didn't Blair tell you? I spent eighteen months living in the jungles of Peru. I learned how to use all sorts of interesting weapons. I prefer a compound bow when hunting, but the crossbow works well enough, certainly enough to shoot one wolf through the heart." 

Tristan pouted almost defensively. "And if there's more than one?" 

"There's not," Jim stated with absolute certainty. He could hear the other wolves approaching--but they were still quite far off. "The rest of his pack are several miles away still." 

A frown filtered across Tristan's face and anger flashed through his eyes. And then unexpectedly the wolf backed down. He dropped his aggressive behavior and backed away from Jim. A moment later he turned and loped off into the woods. Jim slowly lowered the crossbow, hand still on the trigger as he glared at Tristan. 

Tristan smiled. "Well, how lucky for all of us," he laughed. "Now we don't need to rely on your aim, Detective, to keep us all safe." 

"I thought you said there were no wolves in the Black Forest?" 

"Perhaps it was just a wild dog--obviously not too dangerous." 

"I doubt the villagers would agree with you. One of them was killed by wolves last night." 

Tristan shrugged, unconcerned. "There's a man in the village who keeps vicious hunting dogs. The man probably just got drunk and wandered where he didn't belong. Most unfortunately." 

He shot a brief glance at Blair who still had not moved, and then he smiled again at Jim. "I have a number of things to deal with before the funeral, Detective. I trust you and Blair can find your way back unaided?" 

"Not a problem," Jim bit out, glad he was leaving. 

Tristan just shrugged and headed back toward the castle. "Don't get lost," he murmured in amusement as he passed Jim. Jim didn't grace him with a reply. 

Once Tristan was gone, Jim hurried to Blair's side. His Guide stood unusually still, staring off into the dark woods, his gaze so distant and dreamy it reminded Jim of a zone out. 

"Sandburg!" Jim called, shaking his Guide with his free hand, his other hand still tightly gripping the crossbow. He was more unnerved than he wanted to admit, and Naomi's words rang in his ears--if Tristan succeeded in seducing Blair, then his Guide was lost to him. 

What if he were already too late? Certainly Blair was strangely unresponsive. 

But no, he could smell the truth. Tristan's scent was on him, but from contact from the kiss only. It hadn't gone any further than that. 

But that didn't explain Blair's condition. "Sandburg!" he shook him again, trying to get a response, any response from his Guide. But Blair seemed not to notice, not to even hear Jim's voice. 

What did Blair do when Jim zoned? "Blair listen to my voice," he began, but even as he spoke he knew he lacked Blair's cadence. Blair's voice held music within it that pulled Jim out of a zone. 

"Crap!" he shook him again, hoping to jar him to awareness. "Blair! Snap out of it!" But Blair seemed to be listening to something far off, something even the Sentinel could not hear. 

A memory hit him suddenly--the wild music, gyrating bodies, the scent of perfume and opium, and the sight again of Blair in Tristan's arms, kisses stealing Blair away from him, pulling him farther and farther into the world of the wild masque. 

And somehow in the midst of all that chaos, Jim had reasoned that if kisses had stolen him away, then kisses could bring him back. 

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to kiss his Guide? Here in broad daylight without the excuse of drugs or alcohol to explain his actions? 

But what choice did he have? Nothing else was working and he couldn't leave Blair like this--couldn't leave him lost and defenseless. 

"Blair?" he called again, but Blair seemed no closer to awareness than before, and Jim's heart began to pound. A strange fluttering sensation settled in his stomach as he contemplated what he was about to do. 

It was ludicrous, and just as certainly he knew somehow it would work. 

He shook him again for good measure, receiving no response. "The things I do for you, Sandburg," he grumbled. Though somehow he knew Blair would do the same for him. Blair, he suspected would not even hesitate, would jump in with both feet, just like he had in the past when he'd followed Jim through one dangerous escapade after another. Just like he had when he'd died, and then followed Jim back to the land of the living simply because he called him. 

And Jim realized then that there was a precedent for this after all, he had in fact kissed Blair prior to coming to Germany. Of course then it had been under the guise of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but the principle was the same. Breathing life into a still form, as simple and as terrifying as that. 

He caught Blair's chin in one hand, tilting his face upward. And then slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his mouth toward Blair's, his gaze scanning Blair's face for any sign of awareness as he did so. Nothing--only the lost, blank look. 

Then his lips touched Blair's. So strange he thought, kissing a man--but Blair's lips were silky like a woman's, firmer perhaps, but there was a certain lushness to them that most women would kill for. 

And Blair's scent was tolerable--he'd always thought so. Couldn't live with a person if you disliked their scent. And up close like this, with the scent strong from the heat rising off Blair's body, he had to acknowledge that perhaps the scent was more than just tolerable. That perhaps it was downright pleasant. Pleasant enough that his heart sped up as he inhaled deeply. 

He moved his mouth against Blair's, uncertain of what exactly he was seeking. A response of some sort. . .and so nice the way lips felt against lips--silky and soft, with a touch of moist warmth. . .and taste, his tongue flicked out as if of its own volition and tasted Blair's lips. And this time he could feel the tightening in his groin and the sweating of his palms as his whole body flushed at what he was doing. 

Blair gasped, and Jim felt air leave his lungs as his Guide once more inhaled a breath of life from him. 

Jim intended to pull back immediately, the moment he felt a response from Blair. But irrationally he felt a sudden flare of anger at the Pavlovian response. Tristan had certainly done more than simply touch Blair's mouth with his own. Blair had allowed more than that. And somehow the memory of last night's insanity came back right then to torment Jim, and he felt at once used and denied. Though for the life of him he couldn't explain either emotion. 

Rather than pull away, he gripped Blair's chin tighter and pressed his mouth more firmly against Blair's. Why shouldn't he taste what Tristan had tasted, why shouldn't he know what that heat was like? Blair was his Guide after all. 

He forced his tongue past Blair's lips touching and tasting the heat inside. Blair moaned in shock, trembling in Jim's hands--but he did not pull away. Instead he allowed the invasion, parting his lips willingly and letting his tongue move against Jim's. 

Ironically, that capitulation caused the anger to peak within Jim. Would Blair simply roll over and take it from anyone who touched him? It would seem so, and in a fit of rage he thrust Blair back away from him, glaring down into the now aware blue eyes. 

"Shit! Sandburg!" he hissed. 

Blair stared at him in shock, one hand rising to touch his lips. They were kiss swollen and Jim shook from the realization that most of that had been caused by Tristan. 

"Did you just kiss me, Jim?" Blair asked in disbelief. 

"What in hell is wrong with you, Sandburg?" Jim demanded. 

Blair looked pole-axed. "Wrong with me? You were the one who just kissed me?" 

Jim stiffened at the accusation. "I came out here looking for you, only to find you playing tonsil hockey with your cousin of all people!" 

"What?" Blair interrupted in shock. He glanced around at his surroundings in sudden confusion. "Where is. . . I mean how. . .didn't Tristan and I--" 

"Never mind!" Jim yelled. "He's gone! Now answer the question." 

"What question?" 

"What's wrong with you?" Jim demanded in exasperation. "Have you lost your mind? Have you suddenly turned gay? Are you using drugs? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" 

Blair stared at him incredulously, the color rising in his cheeks. "What in hell are you talking about? You know I don't do drugs--and gay? First off my private life isn't any of your goddamned business, and even if it was, you were the one who kissed me, you big jerk!" 

"Because of Tristan, you asshole! " Jim growled. "And it sure as hell is my business since I got dragged into all this!" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"I come out here and find you going at it hot and heavy with Tristan, which for some reason sent you into a first class zone out!" 

"Zone out!" Blair looked completely dumbfounded now. "I don't zone." 

"Then you sure did one hell of an acting job! I shook you, I yelled at you--nothing got to you." 

"So you kissed me?" 

"What in hell else was I supposed to do? That's what caused it, and that's what brought you out of it. And now Naomi says that if Tristan succeeds in fucking you, then you'll go so far beyond a zone out that you will never come back." 

"What?" Blair shrieked. "Naomi said what? What in hell--how did she--" 

"Forget about her--we're discussing you and your irrational behavior. I want to know why you allowed Tristan to touch you at all. If I hadn't shown up when I did, in another moment he would have had you on all fours in the dirt--" 

The fist that struck his jaw caught him completely off guard. He staggered back a step, even as rage exploded with the pain. Without thinking he dropped the crossbow in the dirt and lunged at Blair. He caught one flash of Blair's eyes widening in alarm before he struck him with his full weight and knocked him to the ground. 

Blair fought with a desperate panic, struggling and squirming. Jim grunted as a knee hit his shin, and Blair's chin caught him sharply in the sternum. Pain flared in his ear as one of Blair's fists struck a glancing blow to the side of his head. 

Sharp stones dug into his back as they rolled body over body, each trying to gain the upper hand. But despite Blair's agility, Jim was bigger and stronger, and he knew how to subdue an enemy swiftly. In a manner of moments, he had Blair pinned beneath him. He straddled Blair's hips, holding Blair's arms to either side of his head. He stared down into Blair's angry face, breath coming in gasps. 

Rage and pain shone up at him through those blue eyes, mouth tight in a grimace of anger, nostrils flaring as Blair tried to catch his breath. Leaves tangled with the auburn locks that framed the flushed face, and the body trembling beneath his own was so hot. 

Blair squirmed and Jim tightened his grip, feeling the bones in Blair's wrists grating together. Jim saw the flare of pain echo in Blair's eyes. "Don't you ever hit me again, Sandburg!" 

Blair glared up at him, and his mouth tightened with silence. The little shit wasn't going to apologize! 

"Don't you dare put this on me, Sandburg!" Jim yelled and for emphasis he forced Blair's hands more firmly into the dirt. "This is all you! You're the one who zoned! You're the one who's acting nuts. You're the one who let Tristan crawl all over you. You're the one who let everyone crawl all over you last night!" 

That last bit caught Blair's attention and Jim saw the blood drain from his face. "Yeah, that's right, Sandburg. You remember last night? You remember getting stoned and letting those nut cases pass you around like a party favor?" 

"I thought it was a dream," Blair whispered so softly Jim wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been a Sentinel. 

"No dream, Sandburg," Jim snarled and, releasing one of Blair's hands, he caught at the collar of Blair's blue shirt, pulling it away from his neck and revealing the bite mark he'd left there last night. "That look like a dream to you? Your scent was all over me this morning!" 

Blair's eyes widened in shock. "My scent--oh my God! You. . . you bit. . .we. . .last night we--" 

"Shut up!" Jim snarled unable to face those memories in light of his rage. He was peripherally aware of the position he was in--of how he had Blair pinned beneath his body, just as he was aware of the fact he was rock hard inside his jeans. 

"I was drugged, Sandburg!" he continued. "Do you understand what I'm saying? We were both drugged--something fucking weird happened last night at that party that Tristan says we didn't go to. You were zoning just like you did today. And that was the only way to bring you out of it. But it's not going any further than this! Do you understand me?" 

Blair stared up at Jim in utter shock, his body so still beneath him that Jim became all the more intensely aware of how he was pressing him into the ground. And still that heat was burning into him, and he felt a sudden urge to grind his hips against Blair's. With a strangled yell he lurched upward and moved several yards away from his Guide in an attempt to cool off. 

"What do you want me to do?" Blair asked uncertainly 

"Do?" Jim stared at him incredulously. "Are you even listening here? Something seriously wrong is going on here. I want to leave--now--before this happens again. Because all it seems to take is for Tristan to smile at you and you're panting at his heels. I'll be damned if I play anymore of this sexual hyjinx with you. You're not my type, Sandburg!" 

He knew the moment the words were out of his mouth that he'd hurt Blair. Embarrassment, shock, humiliation--it was all there plain on Blair's face, clear to see. And in a moment of timelessness, Jim saw his Guide stiffen and turn away from him, physically withdrawing, and suddenly all Jim wanted to do was go to him and pull him back into his arms. Somehow, this withdrawing was worse than the zone out. This was losing Blair because of something he'd done, not because someone was stepping in between them. 

"Blair," he said hesitantly, reaching out toward the young man to apologize. 

But Blair just shook his head and climbed unsteadily to his feet, his back to Jim. "No, you're absolutely right, Jim. This is not fair to you. I shouldn't have asked you to come here in the first place. I'll get a ticket home for you immediately." 

"For both of us," Jim cut in. 

Blair stiffened. "I came for my uncle's funeral. I'm staying for it. I owe him that. But you can leave immediately. You can be back in Cascade tomorrow. . ." 

"Damn it, Blair! I'm not leaving you here! Something is seriously wrong here. Don't you see that? Can't you understand that? You're not safe here!" 

"Because my cousin has the hots for me?" Blair demanded, turning an angry glare toward Jim. "So what, Jim?" 

Jim froze. "What?" 

Blair shrugged coldly. "You heard me--oh-great-Sentinel. I said, so what? Who the hell cares if Tristan wants to fuck me or not? What business is it of yours? You admitted yourself that you certainly have no interest in me that way, so why in hell should you care who else does? It's nobody's business but mine. My virtue is not your responsibility." 

"It is if someone's drugging you!" Jim snapped. "I'm your friend. I'm not letting someone force you into anything." 

"Do I look drugged to you?" Blair questioned. 

"Not at the moment," Jim agreed. "But you didn't see yourself before--Jesus, Blair--you zoned through a wolf attack!" 

Blair stopped at that, starting at Jim in utter confusion. "A what?" 

Immediately Jim scooped up the abandoned crossbow and showed it to his Guide. "Wolf attack, Blair. While you were standing there zoned, a wolf tried to stop me from reaching you." 

"A wolf?" Blair just shook his head. "There aren't any wolves in the--" 

"Tell that to the villagers, Sandburg!" Jim cut him off. "Because last night one of them was killed by a wolf." 

Blair paled. "My God. . ." 

"Blair, there was a wolf here--it ran off when I pointed the crossbow at it. And you were so out of it, you never even noticed." 

"What did Tristan say? Did he see it?" 

Jim frowned in disgust. "I get the impression that Tristan was more amused than anything else. He didn't seem overly surprised by its appearance. I don't trust him." 

"That doesn't make any sense, Jim," Blair protested. "Are you sure it wasn't just a dog--" 

"I know a wolf when I see one!" Jim shouted. 

And Blair fell silent at that. Because of course they both knew that Jim wouldn't be mistaken in something like that. 

"Come back home with me," Jim said. 

For the longest moment, Blair just stared at him, and Jim could see so many conflicting emotions in his eyes. "I dreamed of wolves last night," he said quietly. 

Jim didn't want to talk about dreams--and he most certainly didn't want to talk about wolves. He wanted to get his Guide away from this strange place--quickly. "Blair, come home with me. . . now." 

"After the funeral," Blair said firmly, looking away from Jim, his lashes hiding the blue of his eyes. 

"Blair--" 

"I'm staying for the funeral, Jim," Blair said simply, clearly. "I owe it to my uncle. You can leave if you want. I'll understand if you do." 

"Crap!" Jim hissed under his breath. "Fine, Sandburg. Have it your way. But we leave as soon as the funeral is over." 

Blair neither agreed nor nodded; he just gazed sadly at Jim for a long moment. "I'm sorry I hit you," he said finally. "But you shouldn't have said what you said." 

Jim swallowed uncomfortably, his jaw still stinging from Blair's blow. "I know. I'm sorry I kissed you. . ." 

That at last caused a reaction in Blair--a faint twitch of his lips. "Yeah, I sort of gathered that much. Don't worry, I won't bring it up again." 

And Jim wasn't certain if he was entirely happy about that response. He finally just sighed and motioned for his Guide to follow him. "The castle's back this way." 

Blair followed the Sentinel through the forest. 

* * *

They arrived back at the castle in silence, only to find a most bizarre sight waiting for them. Both men stopped in shock as they entered the courtyard, their eyes fixed on the elaborate wooden platform in the center of the cobbled stones. Piled high beneath it were bundles of oil soaked wood, the platform was merely awaiting the arrival of a body to crown its top. 

"You have got to be kidding me?" Jim stated out loud as he gazed at the funeral pyre. 

Blair stared, looking as bewildered as Jim felt. "Okay. . .that's different," he muttered, more to himself and to Jim. 

"This keeps getting weirder and weirder," Jim grumbled, his hand instinctively tightening on the crossbow as if he subconsciously perceived a threat. 

He extended his senses and caught the sounds of dozens of new heartbeats and voices inside. The family had gathered apparently, but before he could warn Blair, the great double doors to the castle proper opened and a group of young men and women emerged, laughing and smiling. They swarmed around the young Anthropologist, greeting him happily as they gathered him up with hugs and kisses. 

Blair, somewhat dazed, greeted most of them by name, even though to Jim's knowledge, in the three and a half years he'd known Sandburg, he'd never once mentioned their names. 

One person in particular caught Jim's eyes--a beautiful dark-haired woman with a deep resonate voice. The voice more than the face was familiar to him. She was the woman who had read out loud last night--the one who'd chosen a story that sounded so much like a tale of a Sentinel. 

"Allisia," Blair greeted her by name, kissing her as he had everyone else. 

The group moved in around Blair, effectively cutting him off from Jim. Jim's mood darkened as he remembered clearly how this same group had tried similiar tactics last night. The urge to wade through the crowd and pull Blair back to his side was great, but he settled for simply keeping his senses honed on him. He pulled aside the woman instead. 

"Allisia," he growled, his gaze hard as he silently dared the woman to pretend she'd never seen him before. 

She raised her face, giving him a vacant smile until she saw the look in his eyes. Her smile faded and she lowered her gaze. 

"Detective," she nodded. "What can I do for you?" 

"You can tell me what's going on here," he demanded. 

She smiled almost coquettishly, but he could see the furtive glance she darted in each direction. "You should be careful of asking too many questions, Detective," she murmured. "You'd be amazed at how good people's hearing around here is." 

"I doubt that," Jim stated flatly. "And I'm a detective. Asking questions is what I do. Especially if something is threatening me or my partner." 

Her voice dropped low, so low that an ordinary man would have needed to lean closer to hear her clearly. "You shouldn't have brought him here. Not with Andros gone. Tristan will never let him leave." 

Jim's gaze hardened, his body stiffening as he took in her words. He still had Blair on radar--was still monitoring his progress inside the castle. "Tristan has nothing to say about it. And even if he did, why would he try to keep Blair here?" 

Allisia's eyes widened slightly as she gazed up into Jim's angry face. "Don't challenge him, Detective. You have no idea what you'd be going up against." 

"Neither does he," Jim growled. "But answer my question. Why would Blair be so important to Tristan? They're cousins, but they haven't seen each other in years. Blair said even then they weren't close." 

Allisia shook her head in disbelief. "Blair has always been special. Ever since he was a child, we've known he was special. He enhances everyone around him." 

Jim had heard some odd compliments in his life, but the way Allisia said 'enhanced' led him to believe that there was something more to her meaning than a simple compliment. "Enhances? What do you mean?" 

"He takes someone's natural abilities and gifts and makes them better," she shrugged. "He enhances them, improves them, helps a person refine or control them. He's always been like that." She laughed softly, the sound light and bell like. "Of course couple that with the fact that he's now a Schamanen and he's far too valuable for Tristan to ever let go. No, Detective, you shouldn't have brought him here, not with Tristan as master. Andros himself might not have let him leave, and he was a far better man than Tristan will ever be. Tristan is completely feral. He'll use any means necessary." 

Schamanen--Jim's German was poor, but he knew that word. Shaman 

"And once the other Alphas arrive and get a look at him. . . ." Allisia shook her head. "As long as he's unbonded, none of them will let him leave. Not while there's still a chance they could claim him for themselves. Good luck, Detective." 

He grabbed her arm before she could walk off. "What in hell are you talking about?" 

She smiled sadly at him. "Perhaps someone will challenge Tristan," she suggested. "Perhaps someone else will become Master--like Marco maybe. He is a good man, an honorable Alpha. You might like him--Blair certainly would. It wouldn't be a bad life for your friend." 

"No one is going to become Blair's 'master'," Jim snarled. 

"It's not up to you, Detective," Allisia informed him. "Blair's one of us. And our laws have existed longer than yours. There's nothing you can do about it." 

"This has something to do with those damned wolves, doesn't it?" 

Something flared in her eyes, something wild and bright, and for one moment she almost looked amused. "Do you believe that people can send their consciousness into the minds of animals, Detective?" 

Jim's eyes narrowed. "No," he stated flatly, not willing to play her game. He wasn't going to go there, wasn't going to entertain such wild thoughts. 

She shrugged. "Then there's nothing you can do to help Blair." She pulled her arm from Jim's grasp and hurried off after the others. 

Jim stared after in her in alarm. This was making less and less sense. Masters? Alphas? Maybe Naomi was right? Maybe he just needed to get Blair out of here anyway he could? But based on his Guide's stubborn refusal earlier, drugging him or knocking him out might very well be his only option. Regardless he had to keep an eye on him; until they left this place, Jim intended to stick to Blair like glue. 

He headed into the castle following the sounds and scents of his Guide. 

By evening a large crowd had gathered inside the stone walls of the old fortress, certainly a larger group than he recalled from last night. They all claimed to be cousins, and they greeted Blair like a long lost brother. Jim found the whole thing more and more ridiculous. No one had that many cousins. Ten or twenty he could believe--Carolyn had actually had sixty-five first cousins on one side of the family. But here there were hundreds and Blair had never once mentioned any of them by name. Nor had Naomi--to his knowledge Naomi hadn't even motioned any siblings. 

"Just how many cousins do you have, Sandburg?" he demanded. 

Blair just shrugged. "They're not all first cousins, Jim. Most are second, third, and fourth cousins, some many times removed." 

"All from Naomi's mysterious family?" 

Blair glanced at Jim in surprise. "No, Jim. This is my father's family." 

That caught Jim completely off guard. "Your father? I thought you didn't know your father?" 

"I don't. I mean he died shortly after I was born and Naomi never really talked about him that much. As near as I can figure there was some sort of fight between my father and another group of family members about me. In any event there was an accident of some sort and my father was killed. Naomi took me and left." 

"An accident?" Jim asked. "Let me guess. Another hunting accident." 

Blair frowned, his blue eyes thoughtful. "I never asked. Never really felt the need to ask." 

"For an inquisitive person, you certainly never made much of an effort to question things around here." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Don't you think things are a bit odd around here?" 

Blair just shrugged. "Maybe a little. But they're family, Jim. I wish you'd just lighten up." With that Blair stormed off to join a group of his so-called cousins out in one of the side courtyards. Jim followed at a distance. 

It wasn't long before he understood what Allisia had meant about other Alphas. Another group of men--also supposed cousins--had arrived. Though they didn't necessarily look alike, all of them reminded Jim of Tristan. They had the same hard look in their eyes, the glint of a hunter, and they moved amongst the crowd with an easy confidence as people parted before them and greeted them the way they might a superior. 

As Blair talked with a group of fawning women, one group of men stood off to one side eyeing him closely. Jim dialed up his hearing in curiosity. 

". . .not expected," one of them was saying. "Quite a coup on Tristan's part." 

"Or a mistake," said another darkly. "I hadn't intended to challenge him over Andros' death, but for that one I might make an exception." 

"Tristan is too strong--you know what he's become. He's returned to the old ways." 

"He'll get us all killed," another complained. "We'll be hunted down like our ancestors were. Andros was right about that." 

"I suspect that's why Blair is here--with his guidance Tristan could always stay one step ahead of the enemy. According to some of Tristan's females, Blair is already nearly his--would have been last night if the good Detective hadn't gotten in the way." 

"That surprises me," the first remarked. "From what I hear the man confronted him and Tristan backed down. He's got the presence of an Alpha but not our scent--doubtful he's a relative." 

"I doubt Tristan backed down--I think he simply delayed the confrontation. Saved it for later. I suspect the good Detective is part of tonight's festivities." 

There was some laughter at that. "After all, what good is a hunt if we don't have a challenging prey." 

A shiver ran down Jim's spine at that. It sounded like a threat to him, a death threat. There was more at stake here than simply Blair's virtue. But if they wanted a fight, Jim would give them a good one. 

* * *

Continued in [Part Three](http://archiveofourown.org/works/797251).

Link to text version of part three: http://archiveofourown.org/works/797251


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